The Tale of Three Brothers
by electricsymphony
Summary: Alternate DH story w/o The Deathly Hallows as a major plot point or plot-hole infested wand-lore. D/Hr, H/G and R/D. An experiment to see if DH could have been presented without all the plot holes. A better summary and explanation inside.


**Tale of the Three Brothers**

_Summary: Harry Potter has to face the epitome of evil before his life is over. It was prophesied, and so it shall be. But with Dumbledore dead, Snape on the run and the Order in shambles, can he bond with the right people over the hardships they face, or will it all come crashing down in front of them? Alternate DH story w/o The Deathly Hallows as a major plot point or plot-hole infested wand-lore. D/Hr, H/G and R/D._

_Explanation: I just had this inspiration to write this. I don't know why, but I guess I wanted to see if I could encorporate the Deathly Hallows stuff into my own version of the last book and avoid all the plot holes. And at the same time, add a twist or two of my own. So, tell me how I'm doing, kay? I know there are a million people re-doing Deathly Hallows w/o the Hallows. But I don't plan to do that. I plan to encorporate all of the elements J.K.R. did but do it a slightly easier to understand way._

_So, here we go. _

_**Prologue**_

**July 21rst, 1997**

**Green Pine Street, Little Hangleton**

**4:48 p.m.**

"Good evening, Antonin."

"Making your rounds, Malfoy?"

"Do you think I waste my time with rounds, Dolohov? No, I came to fetch you," Lucius said, his voice low and cautious. Dolohov placed his wand by his side and inched closer to Malfoy. "The Dark Lord requires your presence at his first meeting. He says that you have information about Potter's whereabouts." Lucius drew his own wand from its holster and brandished it towards Dolohov. "You do have information, I presume?"

"You accuse me of being a liar, Malfoy?" Dolohov sneered. Malfoy smirked and pressed his wand into Dolohov's neck. "If I didn't have information about Potter's whereabouts," Dolohov began, "I wouldn't have declared that I had. You treat with far too little respect Malfoy." Malfoy's wand inched itself further into Dolohov's sweaty skin and he ignored Dolohov's words.

"Watch your tone. You should be well informed on how to treat your superiors, Antonin." Malfoy pushed Dolohov away from him and sneered. "Apparate, Dolohov. I'm assuming you know how."

And with that, they apparated out of sight and Green Pine Street, Little Hangleton was deserted once again. And the young lady on #56 Green Pine Street closed her blinds abruptly and placed the Extendable Ears on her coffee table.

**July 21rst, 1997**

**Order of the Phoenix**

**12 Grimmuald Place, London**

**7:56 p.m.**

"Do you have any… ones?"

"Ones?" Ron asked, his eyebrow arched and his head tilted to the side, his face screwed in concentration. "There are no ones in cards, Harry," he explained, showing Harry the cards again, laid out in order. "The ones are called a-c-e-s," he recited, speaking slowly and mocking Harry with every syllable he uttered, sarcasm dripping through his words. The two had been playing cards for about an hour in a failing attempt to make Harry forget his constant worry about the war and Voldemort. The thought had been etched into Harry's mind, cementing itself into a place in his brain, consuming his thoughts. He had been avoiding Ginny since they had both arrived at Grimmuald Place, and he was sure Ginny wasn't very happy with his decision. He knew, however, that if he ever wanted to have a relationship with Ginny, they couldn't resume anything now—not at the height of the war. He wouldn't put her in danger like that. With the minimal amount of concentration he had put into Grimmuald last year, it was all coming back to him like a bludger to the head. The epiphany he was experiencing was annoying as well as slightly maddening. He realized he had never truly grieved for Sirius, but he had covered it up. He had been convinced that it would only help.

It only made it worse. While Ron's motivation for mocking his lack of cards knowledge was in an attempt to cheer him up, it failed dismally. There was a breach in their communication lately, but his communication with everyone had lacked its usual tone since he had arrived. The Order Members came and went, but no one ever stopped to talk to him. They all walked on like he wasn't there. He was used to it.

What he was not used to, however, was the blonde-haired twit that currently resided only a good twenty feet away from him, on the other side of the room. Malfoy had taken refuge with the Order, despite his protest of tarnishing his pride and residing in a house full of muggle-loving fools. He decided that being in a house full of people he hated was better than being dead. On that reasoning, Harry had to agree with him. He hated Malfoy and everything he had done in the past, but he wasn't ready to kill Malfoy. Malfoy hadn't killed anyone himself, or caused harm to any particular person. He had no grounds in murdering the teenaged tragedy, and as delightful as causing him harm would be, Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted it that way.

That came up as another sore subject for Harry. He hadn't wanted to talk about Dumbledore either. He tried not to force himself to think that he was the one that had inevitably caused his death. He looked back towards Ron, who was giving him a confused look mixed with a slightly frightened one. He heard a grumbling noise from behind Ron, and Ron's questionable glance was thrown to the back of his mind. The blonde stirred a bit in sleep, rolled over and mumbled something that was obscured by his face in the snowy white pillow. There was a mutual silence from both boys as they stared in wonder. Harry and Ron both had reason to believe that Malfoy was still suspicious, despite what the Order had believed. It had so far taken them three weeks to agree to room with him, on the persuasion and persistence of Remus, but they still wouldn't sleep without every protection charm they knew surrounding them.

"I—have an ace, Harry," Ron said, in an attempt to break the silence. He slid the dirty card towards Harry, both knowing the other was not interested in playing the game any longer. The deck simply sat a few feet from both of them collecting dust as they stared at each other. "Are you—hungry?" Ron asked, pushing the cards back into the packet and shoving them off to side. "I think my mum made dinner—if you wanted some…"

"Thanks, Ron," Harry responded, his voice wavering slightly but still holding its pitch. "I've been--" he started, cutting himself off with a heavy sigh, "Slightly depressed lately, if you haven't noticed."

"Oh not at all," Ron smirked, "The gloomy looks and rings around your eyes were no indication whatsoever; not to mention the lack of sleep, motivation to do anything fun or interesting and non-existent eating habits." The sarcasm made Harry smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He smiled a lot simply to make people happy, but it never reached his eyes. They were hollow pits of darkness that had an outline of the vibrant green that used to reside there. "If I can conjure the courage to ask, does the depressed stupor have anything to with a certain female red-head that I happen to be related to?"

"No, Ron. You know I have absolutely no issues with your mother."

Ron smiled. "Funny, but that didn't answer my question."

Harry shifted a little as he stood up. "If Ginny has anything to do with it, that's not the only problem. I'm—stressed, about a number of things. Ginny is only a part of that list—and it wouldn't matter much if I wasn't worried about her."

"Worried about her?" Ron asked, as he put the cards back on the table next to him. "Why are you worried about her?"

"The war," Harry answered simply, as he headed towards the door. "I'm a target—you know that. Hell, everyone knows it. That's why it seems so ridiculous that your sister would have even the most remote interest in me. I'm a time-bomb just waiting to go off, Ron. Voldemort would kill her if he knew how much I cared for her—it would be a disaster." He tried to turn his face so that Ron couldn't see his expression—it was hard to mask how much pain he felt when he talked about her. He only hoped that Ron wouldn't be able to detect it.

"You care for Hermione and I—Remus, my family, the Order… plenty of people besides Ginny, Harry. Are you scared to get too attached to them as well, or is that different?"

"When the hell did you get so interested in this, eh? You and Hermione are worried about my well-being, I can see it your eyes. I don't need the sympathy, and I certainly don't need the happy-go lucky pep talk I'm getting right now."

"Shit, Harry," Ron exclaimed, getting up form his cross-legged position on the floor. "It's not a bloody pep-talk. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Harry answered and picked up his sweat shirt from his bed. He paused, the soft material touching his fingers, and he closed his eyes. He could feel Ron's stare penetrating into his back, but he ignored it. There was an eerie silence now—all they could hear was Malfoy's raspy breathing. "When we became friends in first year," he began, feeling his forehead burn up slowly but surely, "Did you know this is what it would amount to? Your entire family is in danger because of me, and I can't do anything to stop that. I never expected to put you in this much danger and I--"

"Harry, shut up. Are you hearing yourself?" Ron asked, and walked towards him. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. We're all here for you, and we're not going anywhere. If you've put my family in danger, then we are willing to be in that danger. You are our family, Harry. I'd die for you, mate."

"You really should've been a Hufflepuff," Harry said, a small sad smile on his face. "But… thank you. I don't want you to have to do that, but… thank you."

Before Ron could react, Malfoy shot out of his bed, panting and sweating more than he ever had before. "Malfoy?" Ron asked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

There was no answer from Malfoy, however, as the door was blasted off its hinges. Malfoy backed away from the bed, his wand held straight in the air. Harry felt the sting in his scar—Death Eaters. It didn't take long for the shadowy figure to sweep into the room. He knew the face almost instantly—the blond hair that was seeping through the back of the mask. He froze—the chilling feeling that crawled up his shoulders only intensified. The figure didn't even acknowledge Harry or Ron at all. He stepped closer and closer to Malfoy until he stopped, a wicked smirk across his face.

"Hello, son."

***

It's just a prologue, so it'll get better and longer... I hope.

S.S.M.


End file.
